Rough Patches In Life Quotes

Thank God I have the seeing eye, that is to say, as I lie in bed I can walk step by step on the fells and rough land seeing every stone and flower and patch of bog and cotton pass where my old legs will never take me again.

It’s loneliness. Even though I’m surrounded by loved ones who care about me and want only the best, it’s possible they try to help only because they feel the same thing—loneliness—and why, in a gesture of solidarity, you’ll find the phrase “I am useful, even if alone” carved in stone. Though the brain says all is well, the soul is lost, confused, doesn’t know why life is being unfair to it. But we still wake up in the morning and take care of our children, our husband, our lover, our boss, our employees, our students, those dozens of people who make an ordinary day come to life. And we often have a smile on our face and a word of encouragement, because no one can explain their loneliness to others, especially when we are always in good company. But this loneliness exists and eats away at the best parts of us because we must use all our energy to appear happy, even though we will never be able to deceive ourselves. But we insist, every morning, on showing only the rose that blooms, and keep the thorny stem that hurts us and makes us bleed hidden within. Even knowing that everyone, at some point, has felt completely and utterly alone, it is humiliating to say, “I’m lonely, I need company. I need to kill this monster that everyone thinks is as imaginary as a fairy-tale dragon, but isn’t.” But it isn’t. I wait for a pure and virtuous knight, in all his glory, to come defeat it and push it into the abyss for good, but that knight never comes. Yet we cannot lose hope. We start doing things we don’t usually do, daring to go beyond what is fair and necessary. The thorns inside us will grow larger and more overwhelming, yet we cannot give up halfway. Everyone is looking to see the final outcome, as though life were a huge game of chess. We pretend it doesn’t matter whether we win or lose, the important thing is to compete. We root for our true feelings to stay opaque and hidden, but then … … instead of looking for companionship, we isolate ourselves even more in order to lick our wounds in silence. Or we go out for dinner or lunch with people who have nothing to do with our lives and spend the whole time talking about things that are of no importance. We even manage to distract ourselves for a while with drink and celebration, but the dragon lives on until the people who are close to us see that something is wrong and begin to blame themselves for not making us happy. They ask what the problem is. We say that everything is fine, but it’s not … Everything is awful. Please, leave me alone, because I have no more tears to cry or heart left to suffer. All I have is insomnia, emptiness, and apathy, and, if you just ask yourselves, you’re feeling the same thing. But they insist that this is just a rough patch or depression because they are afraid to use the real and damning word: loneliness. Meanwhile, we continue to relentlessly pursue the only thing that would make us happy: the knight in shining armor who will slay the dragon, pick the rose, and clip the thorns. Many claim that life is unfair. Others are happy because they believe that this is exactly what we deserve: loneliness, unhappiness. Because we have everything and they don’t. But one day those who are blind begin to see. Those who are sad are comforted. Those who suffer are saved. The knight arrives to rescue us, and life is vindicated once again. Still, you have to lie and cheat, because this time the circumstances are different. Who hasn’t felt the urge to drop everything and go in search of their dream? A dream is always risky, for there is a price to pay. That price is death by stoning in some countries, and in others it could be social ostracism or indifference. But there is always a price to pay. You keep lying and people pretend they still believe, but secretly they are jealous, make comments behind your back, say you’re the very worst, most threatening thing there is. You are not an adulterous man, tolerated and often even admired, but an adulterous woman, one who is ...

When going through or coming out of a rough patch in life, it's important not to focus on those who did not show up for you. Be appreciative of those who rolled up their sleeves and got dirty with you.

When you're already going through a rough patch of life; a slight wave from past thrash you down so gracefully that journey bcms an unending shore !

Don't allow your pride to push you away from those who truly care for you just because you are going through a rough patch in life. That's exactly when you need them with you the most.

To tell a story is inescapably to take a moral stance," wrote the psychologist Jerome Bruner. Every story we tell, of marriage or life involves judgement about the salient facts, the details to amplify, the impression we wish to leave. The techniques that great storytellers use to draw us in are not unlike the ones that intimate partners use with each other to promote fruitful conversation. Both ease the listener into their story by speaking in terms of possibilities rather than certainties. When one partner wants to invite the other to consider his perspective, he signals his belief that he doesn't have sole access to the truth...In doing so he invites curiosity...Trouble couples insist their partner's meanings are unambiguous.

As for describing the smell of a spaniel mixed with the smell of torches, laurels, incense, banners, wax candles and a garland of rose leaves crushed by a satin heel that has been laid up in camphor, perhaps Shakespeare, had he paused in the middle of writing Antony and Cleopatra — But Shakespeare did not pause. Confessing our inadequacy, then, we can but note that to Flush Italy, in these the fullest, the freest, the happiest years of his life, meant mainly a succession of smells. Love, it must be supposed, was gradually losing its appeal. Smell remained. Now that they were established in Casa Guidi again, all had their avocations. Mr. Browning wrote regularly in one room; Mrs. Browning wrote regularly in another. The baby played in the nursery. But Flush wandered off into the streets of Florence to enjoy the rapture of smell. He threaded his path through main streets and back streets, through squares and alleys, by smell. He nosed his way from smell to smell; the rough, the smooth, the dark, the golden. He went in and out, up and down, where they beat brass, where they bake bread, where the women sit combing their hair, where the bird-cages are piled high on the causeway, where the wine spills itself in dark red stains on the pavement, where leather smells and harness and garlic, where cloth is beaten, where vine leaves tremble, where men sit and drink and spit and dice — he ran in and out, always with his nose to the ground, drinking in the essence; or with his nose in the air vibrating with the aroma. He slept in this hot patch of sun — how sun made the stone reek! he sought that tunnel of shade — how acid shade made the stone smell! He devoured whole bunches of ripe grapes largely because of their purple smell; he chewed and spat out whatever tough relic of goat or macaroni the Italian housewife had thrown from the balcony — goat and macaroni were raucous smells, crimson smells. He followed the swooning sweetness of incense into the violet intricacies of dark cathedrals; and, sniffing, tried to lap the gold on the window- stained tomb. Nor was his sense of touch much less acute. He knew Florence in its marmoreal smoothness and in its gritty and cobbled roughness. Hoary folds of drapery, smooth fingers and feet of stone received the lick of his tongue, the quiver of his shivering snout. Upon the infinitely sensitive pads of his feet he took the clear stamp of proud Latin inscriptions. In short, he knew Florence as no human being has ever known it; as Ruskin never knew it or George Eliot either.

That was true, Iris would sometimes think, about marriage: it was only a boat, too. A wooden boat, difficult to build, even more difficult to maintain, whose beauty derived at least in part from its unlikelihood. Long ago the pragmatic justifications for both marriage and wooden-boat building had been lost or superseded. Why invest countless hours, years, and dollars in planing and carving, gluing and fastening, caulking and fairing, when a fiberglass boat can be had at a fraction of the cost? Why struggle to maintain love and commitment over decades when there were far easier ways to live, ones that required no effort or attention to prevent corrosion and rot? Why continue to pour your heart into these obsolete arts? Because their beauty, the way they connect you to your history and to the living world, justifies your efforts. A long marriage, like a classic wooden boat, could be a thing of grace, but only if great effort was devoted to its maintenance. At first your notions of your life with another were no more substantial than a pattern laid down in plywood. Then year by year you constructed the frame around the form, and began layering memories, griefs, and small triumphs like strips of veneer planking bent around the hull of everyday routine. You sanded down the rough edges, patched the misunderstandings, faired the petty betrayals. Sometimes you sprung a leak. You fell apart in rough weather or were smashed on devouring rocks. But then, as now, in the teeth of a storm, when it seemed like all was lost, the timber swelled, the leak sealed up, and you found that your craft was, after all, sea-kindly.

A rough patch is a celestial design to accept your sins and practice penance, there is high chance of getting an early absolution. Those who do not accept that they have done anything wrong, may get prolonged rough patch.

In a lot of ways home improvement is like marriage. It’s not glamorous. It can take a lot of hard work and effort. There are days it feels like it might be easier to burn the whole thing to the ground and start all over again. Then you remember how much you love the house or your husband and you recommit yourself to what it takes to see the whole thing through. Even when it might involve paintbrushes and compromise and sanding and scraping all the rough edges. And when you look back on a tough patch a few months after the worst has passed, you don’t remember all the hard work and the tears. You just have the satisfaction of knowing you’ve made something beautiful.

These books have really helped me get through some rough patches in my life... So if you want to disagree with me, that's fine, but please do so in a respectful manner. (On anyone's posts for that matter) You never know what someone may be going through. I was recently called an idiot and other names that I won't repeat because I try to keep my language clean, simply because I was defending some other people who were being attacked for loving the Keeper of the Lost Cities. And I know for a fact that many people (myself included) go to books to escape their everyday life. I know of a few people who have read a book that helped them through depression because the characters in that book found a way through it. I've heard about people who were thinking about suicide and then part of a book helped them realize that it wasn't the answer. Books can save lives, as well as any other hobby. So feel free to share your opinion, but please don't attack people for theirs, no matter what it is.

Development in adulthood, and in marriage, requires using the past to animate the present. We lose many things in life. We lose people we love, our younger selves, our children's babyhoods, and the crazy-in-love phase with our partner. We mourn the losses and keep the memories and past selves alive in us-through rituals, reminiscence, and loving action toward othres, investing in the future- is one of the greatest gifts of mature adulthood. From midlife onward, perceiving oneself as generative gives people not only a sense of meaning, but appears to relate to greater health and longer health.

After God, who is the central core pillar to any Christian marriage, there are four important marital relationship foundations. These are: * Self-Esteem - if you don't love yourself you will find it almost impossible to accept love from others. * Friendship - a strong friendship will sustain your marriage even when feelings of love are harder to find. * Laughter - it will improve your quality of life, your health and your relationships * Romance - feeling close to your partner can be the glue which holds your relationship together through the rough patches, but the absence of romance causes a void that problems will easily fill.

Jack,” she said, snuggled up against him. “I hate that I hurt you.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the sweet scent. “Let’s not talk about that anymore. It’s behind us. We have a lot in front of us.” “Would it be a good idea for me to go to Joey for a little while? Give you some space? Try to get my head together?” He rose over her and looked into her eyes. “Don’t, Mel. Don’t run just because we hit a rough patch. We’ll work through this.” “You sure?” “Mel,” he said hoarsely, his voice a mere whisper, “you have my baby inside you. I have to be a part of that. Come on…” She fought the tears that threatened. “I know it must be hard to deal with an emotional basket case like me.” He smiled at her and said, “I’ve heard that pregnant women get like that.” “I think I’m just like that, period.” “Marry me,” he said. She touched his beautiful face. “You don’t have to.” “Melinda, six months ago we were two people without attachments. Two people who had accepted we would never have any—and that we’d never have families. Now we have it all. We have each other and a baby. A baby we both want. Let’s not screw this up.” “Are you sure?” “I’ve never been more sure about anything. I want this. If you can’t stay here, I’ll go anywhere you want to go.” “But Jack, you love it here!” “Don’t you realize I love you more? I need you in my life. You and our baby. God, Mel—I don’t care where that happens. As long as it happens.” “Jack,” she said in a whisper. “What if you change your mind? What if something happens? You have to remember, I never thought anything terrible would happen to—” He put a finger on her lips, stopping her. He didn’t want to hear his name. Not now. “Shh,” he said. “I want you to trust me. You know you’re safe with me.” *

While Telly was all enthralled into the shoes, she did not notice that I was behind her on one knee. When she turned around quickly and saw the ring in my hand, she immediately dropped the shoes and covered her face. “Baby,” I cleared my throat. I grabbed her hand as she used the other to wipe away her tears. “Shantel, everything about us feels so right. Since the first day that we decided we were going to be together, it’s been us against the world. I never had to question your love for me and I know that I give you no reason to question mine. We’ve recently experienced some rough patches, but it’s nothing that we cannot get past. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” I asked with tears pouring from my eyes. “Yes! Yes, baby! I would love to be your wife!” she yelled as I placed the ring on her finger. Standing up, we shared a passionate kiss that escalated real fast. “Baby,

The middle [those rough patches that come before the completion of our milestones] is only a temporal place, never settle there or cut corners to get out!

Labouvie-Vief studies the life course and has identified a midlife tendency she calls the “de-repression of emotions.” As young adults, we may be eager to adopt the standards and customs we associate with adulthood, but as life progresses, we become less interested in conformity, and more interested in change and transformation. Still,

de-repression” isn’t all about cutting loose. It’s a much more complex process, in which people begin to revisit their emotional life and history in new ways. Through self-reflection, people become more fully aware of the “self and others as truly complex beings” who are “combining, if not reconciling, in themselves many opposing affects in sometimes tragic fashion.” Midlife brings on a greater awareness of our “inner states, in which conflicting feelings may war with one another.” We may feel disturbed and disoriented by the conflict. But dealing with our feelings through a frantic transformation negates the need to come to a new and fuller sense of integration.

As young adults, we may be eager to adopt the standards and customs we associate with adulthood, but as life progresses, we become less interested in conformity, and more interested in change and transformation. Still,

One of my friends at work called these events “LFTs,” or “Look-Forward-Tos.” Everyone needed them, she said: something fun in the future to plan for, especially when you’re going through a rough patch.

As a twenty-first-century individual, you must choose your style of personal life. You are allowed to—in fact, you [are] almost required to—continually monitor your sense of self to look inward to see how well your inner life fits with your married (or cohabiting) life. If the fit deteriorates, you are almost required to leave. For according to the cultural model of individualism, a relationship that no longer fits your needs is inauthentic and hollow. It limits the personal rewards that you, and perhaps your partner, can achieve. In this event, a breakup is unfortunate, but you will, and must, move on. To

also depends on something else: our ability to value both the needs of the individual partners and the needs of the marriage. Rough-patch breakdown often occurs when people lose track of one side or the other. Sometimes, they’ve conceptualized marriage as demanding a suppression of individuality, and they reach a point when that solution is no longer sustainable. Or, they find themselves only able to advocate for their own needs, in a sort of zero-sum survival strategy, without being able to hold on to a vision of the marriage as a resource for comfort and excitement, stability and growth. Throughout life, we continually learn about ourselves through pressing up against the personalities of others.

Developing a nuanced relationship to your fantasy life. That means cultivating awareness that actions and thoughts aren’t the same thing, building confidence in the difference between them, and using your imagination and fantasy life as a source of creativity rather than for numbing out and escapism.

This book serves as a reminder that the only sign of life is growth, and it provides a guide for following a growth path. No one has to be doomed to a life controlled by anxieties in which we allow our careers, not to mention our souls, to fade away. Life can be an endless adventure of possibilities. Through self-awareness, with a support network to help us along the way and over the rough patches, with a specific plan, by putting one foot in front of another, you can fly without a net. You can move past the fears and stories of your past that have paralyzed you into inaction. You can rid yourself of the constant internal conversation you have had in the past that froze you in one job, one place, one time.

The path of self-discipline is riddled with tempting detours, rough patches, and frustrating roadblocks. You need tools to help you weather such challenges. In the face of any temptation, distraction, or impulse, there’s a four-pronged tool you can use to fortify your self-discipline—four illuminating questions you need to immediately ask yourself. “Do I want to be a disciplined person or not?” You can answer this question only with a yes or a no; rationalizations, bargaining, exceptions, and conditions are not allowed. If you put off a task to give in to temptation, the answer must be no. By forcing you to classify yourself in such a black-or-white manner, you become better aware of the ways you might rationalize your lapse in self-discipline. “Am I doing the right thing or simply what’s easy?” Doing the right thing—that is, practicing self-discipline—often means you need to do the hard thing. If you find yourself always taking the path of least resistance, then you’re probably not building discipline and are letting your need for comfort dictate the course of your life. “What am I getting for dessert?” This question is all about calling to mind the reason why you’re sacrificing so much now, the reward at the end of the road. When you lose sight of your purpose, it becomes so much harder to maintain self-control and enjoy the journey on the way to it. Having constant reminders of your goals and making sure those goals are compelling enough for you to persist are ways you can fortify your self-discipline. “Am I being self-aware?” Self-discipline requires self-awareness. If you fail to recognize how you’re making excuses for your laziness or what motivations push you to act, then you will find the practice of self-discipline all that much harder. Meditation, as well as engaging in creative pursuits that get you to focus on the present and cultivate your self-awareness, can help you rise above temptations and stay on track to reach your goals.

Unbelievably, the whales continued to circle me. Eventually, I was even able to run my hands down Mama’s back several times. Her black skin felt much tougher and tired. Remnants of barnacles made her skin rough in patches. She seemed more hesitant of this human. Perhaps she had firsthand evidence of man’s horrible actions and treachery. I didn’t blame her for her concerns. I had come to trust fewer and fewer humans myself. Her giant eyes possessed wisdom only found in the passage of time and miles traveled on long journeys.

One should not present faults as though they were virtues, and Bruckner has faults. It is a piece of philistinism to believe that the absence of faults (i.e., unevenness and rough patches) produces greatness. On the contrary, the greatness of Bruckner is all the more impressive by virtue of the fact that it overcomes his faults and makes them important.

Cultural stories are also cliches. Without the frameworks they provide, people find it hard to know how to live life. We are barraged with competing messages, and in constant danger of mistaking slogans for personal experience. As the psychology Dan McAdams observes "People pick and choose and plagiarize selectively from the many stories and images they find in culture to formulate a narrative identity.

2. Keep having conversations with yourself For relationships to stay alive, the individual within them have to stay alive. Our freedom seeking core is precious- not freedom from others but the freedom to discover our own emotional life. Sometimes only in midlife do we begin to befriend this part of ourselves. Imagination, creativity, pleasure in aesthetic and intellectual pursuits, social action are all facet of your individuality, and they deserve attention and celebration. The last thing you want is a marriage that takes over your mind.

So much of marriage, and life is about sitting with uncomfortable feelings, and not reaching for the quick fix that won't work in the long run. This sometimes means confusion, lack of control, or feeling broken before you feel whole. It means understanding "not knowing" as a positive capacity rather than a failure or ignorance. People who pray, people who meditate, have a model for this. They assume that it takes time for mysteries to clarify. The artist Georgia O'Keeffee famously said, "Nobody sees a flower-really-it is so small. It takes time-we haven't time-and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time." "A spiritual practice helps us to know that seeing takes time; and that sometimes it can take a long time to see because we resist painful realities.

By midlife we can't help but feel aware of the roads not taken. Our awareness can prompt anything from leisurely curiousity to profound regret. We look for ways to incorporate the dreams of our youth into our present reality. It's not simply boredom though it might be that too. We want to reconnect to people form our pasts, to set things straight or understand events from a different angle. We want our life stories to add up to make sense

sublimation a term that references a cor paradox of healthy adult life, namely that we need to give up in order to get. We we accept the limits and structure of a role-be it to parent to child, husband to wife, teacher to student- we paradoxically gain freedom to express the full range of emotion within that role. This bargain can be surprisingly hard to strike because the gain is tied to the loss. Accepting the need to behave within the limits of roles involves relinquishment for sure: the frustration of wises, the loss of a fantasy of infinite possibilities, even grief at what we cannot have. But all told, it's a productive and creative exchange. Reinvesting time and energy into our limits life often yields the greatest bounty of fruits, even if we are aware that somewhere over there is an exotic variety we'll never get a chance to try. Holding onto limits even when they are tested, is what allows us to conserve and preserve those things we care most about nurturing whether it's a stable home for our children , the time and energy to pay attention to them, or the pleasure to develop our interests. Having confidence in our boundaries also allows for the flourishing of much more diverse relationships.

Different philosophers appeal to different people at different times. Thoreau’s rebellious spirit attracts teens. Nietzsche’s flame-throwing aphorisms draw young adults. Existentialism’s emphasis on freedom appeals to the middle-aged. Stoicism is an older person’s philosophy. It is a philosophy for those who have weathered a few battles, suffered a few setbacks, known a few losses. It is a philosophy for life’s rough patches, large and small: pain, illness, rejection, annoying bosses, dry skin, traffic jams, credit card debt, public humiliation, delayed trains, death. Asked what he learned from philosophy, Diogenes, a proto-Stoic, replied: “To be prepared for every fortune.

THE MIDPOINT OF life represents the moment of maximal conflict between our drive to seek external solutions to our emotional dilemmas and our recognition that, ultimately, they don’t work. In the rough patch we are forced to realize, often against our will, that the life-building activities of youth—job, relationship, children, house—have not taken care of what’s unresolved within. We still yearn—for what

Second, the passage of time gives a new urgency and poignancy to the state of our intimate relationships. This is our life. Can this relationship last for the next four decades? Is

now the time to reckon with that question? We may begin to feel tendrils of doubt, the upwelling of inconvenient longings and needs, an uneasy sense that suppression or chronic discord will not be sustainable. We may encounter dread, fear, and a desire to escape through work, or screens, or drink. We’re dimly aware we may have to lose in order to gain, that painful upheavals may be the cost of emotional growth or inner peace. Oscillating between what is and what could be, between reality and possibility, between embracing and relinquishing, we feel disoriented and confused. When things feel bad, two options may loom up in our minds: endure (for the children, the shared history, the finances, the stability, the vow) or strive (for something more, another chance, a better relationship). Surrender or escape. Give in or start over. Depressive resignation or manic flight. These occur to us largely because it’s not at all clear where else to go. But the thought that soon follows is that we want to be honest, and we ask ourselves, what is the line between seizing vitality and manically defending against decline? What’s the difference between “settling” and acceptance? How might the effort to have more in our lives unwittingly result in less? When does accepting limits help us to make the most of what we have, and when does it signal premature resignation? Our dawning awareness of life’s limits means we know that we’ve reached the point where dismantling what we have and starting something new does not come cheaply. We know there’s really no such thing as “starting over,” only starting something different and trailing the inevitable complications in our wake. The acting out we see around us, which till now we’ve casually dismissed, begins to looks like one way that people try to combat the stasis of depression with the action of escape, attempting to transcend (at least temporarily) the “hitting a wall” feeling that this life stage can induce.

that kind of striving, people too often end up in misdirected solutions, relational or otherwise, that can only temporarily relieve their desolation. The reality that life is lived in one direction means that things we might have had in concrete form at earlier points in life—youthful beauty, our high school sweetheart, Herculean sexual stamina—become increasingly costly and delusional to pursue. As time passes, the stakes of not squarely facing the reality of loss, of relinquishing what you can’t actually have, get higher. We have to develop and refine other capacities, inner capacities, if we want the second half of life to go well.

From the last three decades of psychological research, we know that our minds are formed in relationships. This means not simply that our minds are concerned with relationships (which they are), but that relationships shape the ways we process and experience reality. Psychology has made huge strides in mapping the connections between early attachment, emotional development, and adult intimate relationships. Throughout life, our emotions signal what’s important, and what’s important—at any age—is satisfying relationships. In a real sense, then, marriage picks up where childhood left off. As a close relationship that engages body, heart, and mind, marriage offers a powerful lifelong vehicle for knowing another, being known, and developing our deep emotional life. Overall, research finds that the most important factors in whether our relationships are satisfying all have to do with emotions: how we tune into our emotions, experience them, manage them, communicate about them, calm them enough to respond to others, and align them with our behavior and goals. Throughout this book, I will sum up the key capacities of healthy emotional relating as curiosity, compassion, and control. When we’re curious, we are open to trying to understand our own and the other’s truth. When we’re compassionate, we feel empathy for our own and the other’s struggles. When we exert self-control, we contain and communicate our emotional responses to others in ways that are accurate, sensitive, and likely to get heard. The triad of curiosity, compassion, and (self-)control takes us toward a sense of personal agency, and away from holding our partner responsible for our own feelings. It helps us build the inner capacities we need to reckon well with the rough patch. Finding a way to be happy in marriage depends on our ability to exercise emotional skill, flexibility, and resilience. But

So laced and lush is this ecosystem that we walk our several miles through it today without making a footfall, only scuffs. Carol tells me that these Olympic rain forests and the rough coast to their west provide her the greatest calm of any place she has been. That she can walk in this rain forest and only be walking in this rain forest, moving in simple existence. Surprising, that, because neither of us thinks we are at all mystic. Perhaps, efficient dwellers we try to be, we simply admire the deft fit of life systems in the rain forest. The flow of growth out of growth, out of death . . . I do not quite ease off into beingness as she can. Memories and ideas leap to mind. I remember that Callenbach’s young foresters of Ecotopia would stop in the forest to hug a fir and murmur into its bark, brother tree. . . . This Hoh forest is not a gathering of brothers to humankind, but of elders. The dampness in the air, patches of fog snagged in the tree tops above, tells me another story out of memory, of having read of a visitor who rode through the California redwood forest in the first years of this century. He noted to his guide that the sun was dissipating the chilly fog from around them. No, said the guide looking to canyon walls of wood like these, no, “The trees is drinkin’ it. That’s what they live on mostly. When they git done breakfast you’ll git warm enough.” For a time, the river seduces me from the forest. This season, before the glacier melt begins to pour from the Olympic peaks, the water of the Hoh is a painfully lovely slate blue, a moving blade of delicate gloss. The boulder-stropped, the fog-polished Hoh. Question: why must rivers have names? Tentative answer: for the same reason gods do. These Peninsula rivers, their names a tumbled poem of several tongues—Quinault, Quillayute, Hoh, Bogashiel, Soleduck, Elwha, Dungeness, Gray Wolf—are as holy to me as anything I know. Forest again. For comparison’s sake I veer from the trail to take a look at the largest Sitka spruce along this valley bottom. The Park Service has honored it with a sign, giving the tree’s dimensions as sixteen feet four inches in diameter, one hundred eighty feet in height, but now the sign is propped against the prone body of the giant. Toppled, it lies like a huge extracted tunnel bore. Clambering onto its upper surface I find that the Sitka has burls, warts on the wood, bigger around than my body. For all that, I calculate that it is barely larger, if any, than the standard nineteenth-century target that Highpockets and his calendar crew are offhandedly devastating in my writing room. Evening, and west to Kalaloch through portals of sawed-through windfalls, to the campground next to the ocean. In fewer than fifty miles, mountain and ocean, arteried by this pulsing valley.

Go gently through this day, keeping your eyes on Me. I will open up the way before you, as you take steps of trust along your path. Sometimes the way before you appears to be blocked. If you focus on the obstacle or search for a way around it, you will probably go off course. Instead, focus on Me, the Shepherd who is leading you along your life-journey. Before you know it, the “obstacle” will be behind you and you will hardly know how you passed through it. That is the secret of success in My kingdom. Although you remain aware of the visible world around you, your primary awareness is of Me. When the road before you looks rocky, you can trust Me to get you through that rough patch. My Presence enables you to face each day with confidence. JOHN 10:14–15; ISAIAH 26:7

Love. It’s what keeps us going and gets us through the rough patches that life loves to throw in our path.

Jewel and I come up from the field, following the path in single file. Although I am fifteen feet ahead of him, anyone watching us from the cottonhouse can see Jewel’s frayed and broken straw hat a full head above my own. The path runs straight as a plumb-line, worn smooth by feet and baked brick-hard by July, between the green rows of laidby cotton, to the cottonhouse in the center of the field, where it turns and circles the cottonhouse at four soft right angles and goes on across the field again, worn so by feet in fading precision. The cottonhouse is of rough logs, from between which the chinking has long fallen. Square, with a broken roof set at a single pitch, it leans in empty and shimmering dilapidation in the sunlight, a single broad window in two opposite walls giving onto the approaches of the path. When we reach it I turn and follow the path which circles the house. Jewel, fifteen feet behind me, looking straight ahead, steps in a single stride through the window. Still staring straight ahead, his pale eyes like wood set into his wooden face, he crosses the floor in four strides with the rigid gravity of a cigar store Indian dressed in patched overalls and endued with life from the hips down, and steps in a single stride through the opposite window and into the path again just as I come around the corner. In single file and five feet apart and Jewel now in front, we go on up the path toward the foot of the bluff. Tull’s wagon stands beside the spring, hitched to the rail, the reins wrapped about the seat stanchion. In the wagon bed are two chairs. Jewel stops at the spring and takes the gourd from the willow branch and drinks. I pass him and mount the path, beginning to hear Cash’s saw. When I reach the top he has quit sawing. Standing in a litter of chips, he is fitting two of the boards together. Between the shadow spaces they are yellow as gold, like soft gold, bearing on their flanks in smooth undulations the marks of the adze blade: a good carpenter, Cash is. He holds the two planks on the trestle, fitted along the edges in a quarter of the finished box. He kneels and squints along the edge of them, then he lowers them and takes up the adze. A good carpenter. Addie Bundren could not want a better one, a better box to lie in. It will give her confidence and comfort. I go on to the house, followed by the                                     Chuck.   Chuck.   Chuck.of the adze.

You see, Bobby knew that when it gets hard we all have two responses to choose from: to moan, or to put our heads down, smile and get on with it. Remember: no one likes a moaner. Wouldn’t we all rather work with someone who, when the workload gets insane, simply says: ‘Right, let’s put some music on, divide up the tasks and get cracking. Breakfast is comin’!’ Life is full of rough patches. All big goals, however glamorous on paper, will inevitably involve a load of boring tasks along the way - it’s just the way things are. Moaning and being miserable doesn’t change the facts - nor does it improve the situation. In fact, it makes a bad situation worse. When I’m on expeditions, I value cheerfulness almost as much as fresh water. And when you’re in life-and-death situations, it’s priceless. You can’t always choose your situation, but you can always choose your attitude. Not only can positive thinking lead to positive outcomes, but there’s another very good reason why cheerfulness is good for survival: people are more likely to want to help you and stick with you. And in adversity, you’re going to want all the help you can get. So learn from the Commandos, smile when it is raining, and show cheerfulness in adversity - and look at the hard times as chances to show your mettle. ‘Breakfast is comin’!

the luxuries my privileged life brings me in solidarity with everyone out there who is having a hard time? I used to think so. I used to feel so bad about all the wrongs in this world that I couldn’t enjoy the rights. The beauty. The loveliness. The shallow superficialities that make my life pleasant. It made me miserable, it made me feel guilty about how lucky I was. The misery and guilt I experienced though—did it make life better for anyone else? I now think that not enjoying the good things that come my way would be inexcusable ungratefulness. This makes sense to me because whenever I, myself, have been through a rough patch, I get so confused by people who have succeeded in reaching their goals, but are unable to enjoy it for fear of seeming stuck up, spoiled, or full of themselves. What’s the point of working your ass off to make something out of yourself, if you’re then not allowing yourself to enjoy it? I want to be grateful, and I want to be humble. I want to do my bit to make this world a better place. But I also want to experience it all—devour as much of this life as I possibly can. I want to dress in beautiful things and taste all the gorgeous flavors the world has to offer. I want to dance with the most beautiful man alive, whom I have the luxury to call my own. I want to carefully put on makeup and make my bed neatly every morning, put flowers in my windows and toast the beauty I see. I want to walk down the street feeling like a stunning creature. And I want to nod my head in recognition to all of you other stunning creatures out there. To you who make an effort, who give a damn. To all of you who are grateful and appreciate. And who want to experience it all. This might be shallow—it probably is. I might be shallow—I probably am. But you know what? I’m ok with it.

Instead of seeing ADHD-type behaviors as part of the spectrum of normal childhood that most kids eventually grow out of, or as responses to bumps or rough patches in a child's life, we cluster these behaviors into a discrete (and chronic) "illness" or "mental health condition" with clearly defined boundaries. And we are led to believe that this "illness" is rooted in the child's genetic makeup and requires treatment with psychiatric medication.